


The Ones Who Stop You Falling from Your Ladder

by alchemise



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Action, Background: Scott/Richmond, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Military, Past Mission, Post-Canon, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:42:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemise/pseuds/alchemise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A past mission gone wrong; a roadtrip across America; and the ones who don’t let go</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ones Who Stop You Falling from Your Ladder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Devilc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/gifts).



> DevilC: I hope you enjoy the guys being awesome and ridiculous (often at the same time!). Happiest of Holidays!
> 
> Title swiped from the theme song. 
> 
> All the thanks in the world to MontanaHarper for betaing!

_Prologue_

Finn gestured back to the ski resort billboard they’d just passed and shouted above the road noise, “I think that sign said Jackson Hole is another eighty miles.”

Michael nodded. “Cheers, Finn. We should at least stop and eat. Figure out if we want to stay the night or push on.”

“Jackson _Hole_ ,” Scott said with a dirty laugh from a few feet behind them, and Michael didn’t even need to look at him to know he was grinning stupidly.

Unfortunately, Michael’s patience was hitting a breaking point. “ _Dammit_ , Scott. That stopped being funny three fucking hours ago!” It had been a very long day on the road since they’d left Vegas at the crack of dawn. Michael was tired of sitting on a bike, tired of the wind in his face, and, most of all, tired of his friend’s moronic jokes.

Scott accelerated forward, now riding in between the other two. “Bullshit, buddy. You’ve just got that stick shoved so far up your ass you can’t appreciate the sophistication of American humor.”

“Hmph. About as sophisticated as a teenage boy.”

Michael saw Scott reach out an arm and poke his son in the shoulder, his bike wobbling a bit. “No offense, Finn.”

“Screw you, _Dad_ , I’m not the one who giggles at anything that sounds like a butt.” Finn sped up, leaving both men laughing behind him.

\---------

**Part 1: Martinez**

Waiting. Fucking hours of _waiting_. This was Kim’s least favorite part of the job. Planning and doing, that’s what it should be all about. But no, here she was stuck crammed into this prickly-as-fuck bush, staring through a sniper scope down at the intended ambush site, waiting for the team to either carry off this mission as planned or for something to go to shit and then they’d all have to improvise. The latter was more likely given Section 20’s luck.

Richmond was to her right, crammed into an equally prickly-as-fuck bush, watching for the target’s approach and making sure their exfil route—a jeep hidden in some brush a hundred yards behind them and a road little better than an animal path—stayed clear. Stonebridge and Scott were at the base of the hill, crouched behind the skeleton of a car halfway across the packed dirt road the target was supposed to be driving down in another half hour or so, as he left Juba after his regular Sunday appointment with a bookkeeper there.

The target wasn’t even really their target. The whole op was just a favor Colonel Locke agreed to carry out for Interpol. Capture the target—a Mr. Ayim, some weaselly mid-level mover of goods across borders—and get him to spill about his boss, this fucker arms dealer who had finally pissed off enough people that Interpol had grudgingly agreed to put a stop to him. And then had promptly farmed out the job to the first small-scale intelligence operation familiar with South Sudan who would take it on. Rumor, according to Richmond, was that Section 20 was fourth on the list but everyone else had told Interpol to fuck off. _Just our luck_ , Kim thought.

It was Richmond’s job to watch the entire area and notice anything hinky, but Kim was the one who would be the chief backup for the guys when the ambush went down, just in case Ayim brought friends, so she also kept an eye out for anything that was where it shouldn’t be, or, God forbid, a fucking civilian who picked this quiet Sunday afternoon to wander down this one lonely road. It was fairly desolate; there was the dirt road, with a bunch of spindly trees and a fuck-ton of prickly bushes. Off to her left were the remains of what might have been a house once, or maybe a store or something, a sign that once someone had tried to build something here and it hadn’t worked out well for them. And right in front of them and down below, one burnt-out car with mostly just the frame remaining, partially blocking the road, and two men hunkered down behind it.

Her eye stopped on Stonebridge and Scott. They were locked in deep conversation, body language tense. Their comms weren’t broadcasting so she couldn’t listen in.

 _Arguing about some bullshit in the middle of a mission?_ Their body language wasn’t angry though, just intense. A casual observer might see how focused they were on each other and assume they wouldn’t notice a tank rolling by, let alone a single car carrying one important target they needed to capture alive. But Kim knew her team. The guys were good soldiers and would respond in an instant to any change in their environment. This still seemed kind of odd to her though.

“What the fuck are they talking about?”

“Hmm?” Richmond turned her binoculars toward the guys. “Oh, that. They’re probably going on about their lot in life. Or the politics of soldiering. Or the status of their relationships. Something deep and meaningful, I’m sure.” Kim could swear she _heard_ Richmond roll her eyes.

“Ha, right!” Kim kept watching. Scott was saying something, while Stonebridge frowned disapprovingly.

Richmond tore her eyes away from the binoculars to look at Kim. “No, really. They do this all the time. I’m beginning to suspect they do all their serious life planning whilst on missions. Hell, there was this one time in Cape Town, the idiots forgot their comms were still sending. Baxter and I were at the Crib, could hear Scott do this whole long bit of how Stonebridge coped with tragedy by burying his anger and then lashing out. Scott was worried he’d blow the mission.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Baxter and I thought it was funny at first. I mean, they were saying things to each other I wouldn’t tell a single soul. But it was getting heated and we figured this was something Dalton was better off not knowing about. I coughed into the mic and they shut right up. Never said a word about it since.” Richmond looked worried, as if remembering. Kim had heard snippets of how close Stonebridge had come to falling apart after his wife was killed.

“He does, you know.”

“What’s that?” Richmond had her binoculars up again, back to surveying the landscape.

“Bottles all that shit up inside. Though I can’t say I blame him. I mean, it’s a lot of _shit_. Good thing he’s got all of us, huh?”

“Yeah, Section 20 takes all kinds.” Richmond said the words with a smile.

Kim noticed movement to the south. “Eleven o’clock. I’ve got something reflecting the sun, two klicks out. Could be a car. Shit, the fucker’s early?”

“I can’t tell. I’m calling it in. Zero, this is Bravo Team. Possible target approaching. All Bravos in position. Awaiting confirmation of target. Over.”

\---------

_Interlude_

“What the _fuck_ just happened?!” Scott wiped blood out of his eye as he and Michael sped away from the bar now filled with dead bodies and sheriff’s deputies.

Michael felt unnerved and knew it showed. “I don’t know, mate. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“I mean, shit, it seemed like a good idea, you know? Stop for a quick drink, take a break from the road, see what they do for fun in bumfuck Pennsylvania.” Scott hit the accelerator on his bike.

Michael followed his lead, wanting to put even more distance between them and the disaster that had just gone down. “That place was completely fucking mad.”

Wiping more blood out of his eye and looking back over his shoulder, even though the bar was long since out of view, Scott kept babbling, obviously still a bit freaked out “Yeah, no shit! How’d we go from ‘Oh hey, there’s a bar, let’s stop. Neat, the owner used to be a boxer, bet he’s got some epic stories to tell,’ to fucking guns blazing? And the goddamn sheriff set the whole thing off!”

“No way was that bloke a real sheriff. No fucking way.” Michael didn’t know what the man had actually been, but he’d met many members of law enforcement, all across the globe—some crooked, some straight—and this man fit none of them.

“Thank fuck Finn wasn’t here for this. I’d be some shit dad if I got my kid involved in a gunfight…again.” The guilt was still clear in Scott’s words.

Michael sighed in agreement, grateful things hadn’t gone even worse.

“So much for a boring few days in small-town America! But Mikey, I don’t get it; was that some kind of Amish mafia or something?”

“I just don’t know. Let’s never go back there.” Michael sped up even faster and Scott followed, both pushing their bikes to the limit on the winding country road.

\---------

**Part 2: Scott**

Julia’s call-in about a vehicle approaching tore Damien away from his conversation—argument, really—with Michael and back to the mission at hand. Not that he minded in this case, seeing as how Mike was being a judgmental prick, going on about the dangers of shitting where you eat. Which, Damien quickly realized, was a terrible metaphor to use when talking about Julia and besides, _like Michael was one to talk._

He’d deal with all that later, though. Right now, they had some asshole smuggler to capture. Out of the corner of his eye, Damien saw Michael adjust his position at the left side of the car, ready to spring into action the second the target was within range.

“We have confirmation yet that this is our guy? And why the fuck is he so early?” Damien asked.

Julia replied, “We’re still waiting on satellite confirmation from Zero that it’s the right vehicle. Stand by.”

He turned to Michael and shrugged, thinking maybe they’d wrap things up early for a change.

Colonel Locke’s voice was suddenly on the comms. “Bravo Team, we have confirmation that the lead vehicle is the target’s. But we’re also seeing three unidentified vehicles following his. Judging by the speed he’s going, it looks like we’re not the only ones after Mr. Ayim. The mission remains the same. We need Ayim alive.”

Damien was briefly annoyed that they’d have to tweak what had been a beautifully simple plan, but that was pretty much par for the course with Section 20.

Michael responded, coolly professional, “Roger Zero, this is Bravo One. Original mission objectives confirmed. Bravo Two and I will hijack the lead vehicle and acquire the target. Bravos Three and Four, focus on the target’s pursuers and provide cover.”

Just as Damien was thinking, _Things can totally still go off without a hitch; we just need to fend off a few possible enemies, no big deal_ , he noticed some movement in the ruined building off to their left. Something was inside.

Then everything went to shit.

Three loud bangs and a glimpse of muzzle fire. There wasn’t even enough time to seek better cover behind the car. Two bullets struck the metal frame. Damien heard Michael let out a grunt from what must have been the third.

“Shit!” Michael sounded more surprised than hurt.

Damien let himself glance at his partner as he turned his weapon toward the building. “You okay, Mikey?”

“I’m fine, just a graze. I count one, possibly two X-rays to our ten o’clock. How the hell is there anyone else out here?!”

A shot rang out from above and behind them, and Damien heard a shout of impact from inside the building. Probably Martinez. _Good girl_ , Damien thought.

Her voice confirmed Damien’s guess. “Got one, guys. But there’s at least one more in there. I don’t have a shot.”

Julia’s voice closely followed. “Target vehicle should reach the ambush point in one minute. Three vehicles still in pursuit.”

 _Well, hell_. Damien looked for anywhere else they could easily get to that would provide them with better cover, but they seemed to be stuck with the piece-of-shit car. Waiting for Ayim to reach them, Damien kept one eye on the building, alert for movement from their remaining mystery shooter, and the other on the road. He heard the cars approaching before he could see them, the target vehicle a newer mid-sized sedan that was being driven like a bat out of hell; Ayim was clearly desperate to lose his pursuers.

“Get ready, buddy.” The idea was that Ayim would slow down enough to avoid the obstacle Damien and Michael were behind and they could just pull him out of the car or shoot the tires without risking him losing control and crashing.

“And here I was thinking I might take a nap,” Michael responded dryly.

“Screw you.” Damien grinned as he said it.

The only problem (other than the unknown shooter they only barely had cover from) was that the driver wasn’t slowing down. At all. It wasn’t even clear that he’d noticed the burnt-out car. In fact, Damien was starting to think that Ayim might be speeding up, the car’s engine starting to make some really unhappy sounds.

Damien had time for one breathless “oh shit” before Michael shouted, “ _Move_!” and dove to his right—with Damien automatically following him—away from the car barreling down on them.

Damien looked up to see Ayim’s car smash into the wrecked car blocking the road. Then the driver clearly lost control, because the damn thing started spinning wildly, moving toward the ruined building and the remaining unknown shooter. It came to a stop just a few feet from the nearest wall, smoke starting to pour out from under the hood.

Michael yelled, “ _Move_!” again, this time motioning toward the building, the gunman, the smoking car, and their target. The three pursuing cars were just reaching them, all dark SUVs with what looked like half a dozen probable bad guys. Men from each car opened fire as they reached the scene of the ambush, clearly trying to take Damien and Michael out.

Damien returned fire as he and Michael continued to run toward their target. “Move, Mikey! These guys ain’t friendlies!”

“Fuck! Bravo Three and Four, we could really use some help here!” Michael had just reached some rather pathetic cover: a pocket created by a bit of fallen wall about a dozen yards from the main building that at least sort of shielded his body from both the new shooters and the unknown one in the building.

As Damien prepared to throw himself into the same space, hoping that maybe they could try to get a handle on this new clusterfuck, several things happened at once. Multiple shots rang out from above, drawing the attention of the new combatants; Julia must have joined Martinez with the other rifle. Ayim jumped out of his crashed car, screaming, “Save me and I will give you anything!” Michael yelled for the moron to get behind some cover, while joining in the firefight with the women. And finally, just as Damien was almost behind the rubble, almost somewhat safe, the missing second gunman inside the building reappeared, framed in a shattered doorway.

Damien raised his weapon toward the man but not quickly enough. The first thing he felt was a force slam into his right shoulder, spinning him off-balance as he teetered on the edge of the rubble. Then sounds: a loud bang echoed by the slightly quieter bangs going off behind him, Michael still yelling, Ayim screaming, Julia’s voice shouting his name. As Damien fell, one of the enemy vehicles exploded; someone had hit the gas tank.

 _Nice shot, girls_ , Damien thought as the ground rushed up to meet him. At some point he had lost his grip on his weapon. His arm felt numb…and wet. Hitting the ground didn’t feel great, his head slamming into the hard earth, but it all seemed a bit distant and muffled. Damien blinked for a moment, trying to regain his bearings, as Michael yelled vaguely from a couple of feet away.

As the world snapped back into focus, the pain suddenly made itself known. _Shit_ , Damien thought, _we are so fucked_.

\---------

_Interlude_

“Dude, I am fucking tired of this road. Let’s grab a beer.” Scott was eyeing the handful of businesses that lined the middle-of-nowhere Kentucky street.

Michael frowned at the run-down area they were driving through. Scattered businesses and homes, all needing a fresh coat of paint, and people looking warily at the strangers riding through. “I don’t see any bars. I thought you Yanks believed in drinking all your troubles away?”

Scott paused with his mouth open, before apparently realizing the answer. “Oh shit, it’s fucking _dry_ here, Mikey. No booze allowed!”

“Then we head on.” Michael felt tired. He was still thrown by the clusterfuck of the previous day, aching with bruises from the fight, and he was really hoping to relax and chat with some locals who weren’t completely insane.

“Ha, you are doubting American resourcefulness! There’s always a loophole for everything.” Scott grinned, pointing at a nondescript building ahead, surrounded by nothing much at all, the acronym ‘V.F.W.’ on a sign out front. “Here’s our answer.”

Michael shrugged, pulling his bike into the parking lot next to Scott’s. The idea behind the place seemed familiar enough. “Some veterans’ organization then? Like British Legion Clubs?”

“Yup! And legally allowed to sell booze wherever the fuck they want! C’mon, let’s find some trouble.”

Michael snorted in response and followed his friend to the unmarked door, where a large, fifty-something, skeptical-looking man stood outside talking with a wiry, younger guy who was fiddling with his phone.

“Veterans only, boys. You’ll have to head to the next county if you want to drink,” said the older man, clearly in charge of enforcing the entrance rules. The younger man just looked at them, absently curious.

Scott responded, “Well I was Delta Force once upon a time and this ugly bastard was British Special Forces, which has to count at least halfway or something, right?” Michael rolled his eyes in confirmation.

The younger man snorted wryly and said, “Let them in, Bill. They clearly have the attitude to belong. I’m Tim, welcome to Harlan County.”

Both men smiled as their new friend led them inside and straight to three free seats at the bar. Tim ordered a round of whiskey and asked them, “Where you boys coming from, anyway?”

“Oh, little bit of everywhere. I’m Damien, he’s Michael,” Scott responded.

Michael chimed in with, “We’re glad to see some friendly faces here.”

“Eh, folks are plenty friendly ‘round here. You just got to speak their language,” Tim said dryly, which seemed like the way he did everything. Michael had no clue if he was being sarcastic.

Michael took advantage of the opening and raised a toast. “Well, here’s to new friends.” First round done.

Their glasses were immediately refilled, though these they drank a bit slower. They chatted for a while about stupid war stories, each more exaggerated than the last. Things turned a bit melancholy then, as former soldiers tended toward.

Scott looked a bit lost in the past, raising his glass again. “To fallen friends.”

Michael smiled sadly. “And loved ones.”

“Yeah, Mikey, and loved ones.” They all drank.

“To Julia,” Scott whispered. Michael quietly clinked his glass against his friend’s. Tim had the good manners not to say anything.

Then Tim frowned, looking thoughtful. “To building a new future.”

Michael felt the mood lighten as both he and Scott visibly pulled themselves back to the present. “Tim, mate, I will drink to that.” Another round done.

“But never learning from past mistakes,” Scott proposed. As they drank, Scott looked at Michael and grinned. Michael could only return the look, wondering where this was going.

Scott quirked his eyebrows a bit suggestively, which made Michael laugh, face flushed from perhaps one drink too many. Scott looked willing, perhaps, for something Michael was finally able to admit to himself that he wanted. Michael raised his glass one last time, Tim having poured a fresh round without the other men noticing, and smiled wide. “To making new ones.”

Scott concluded the toasting with, “May we never regret any of them!”

\---------

**Part 3: Stonebridge**

Michael saw Scott hit the ground near him with a sickening thud. He reached over and grabbed his friend to pull him more fully behind the U-shaped rubble. _Shit shit shit, this is not good_ , Michael thought as he tried to figure out how badly Scott was hurt. Scott’s shoulder was bleeding from both the front and back, not gushing enough for an artery to have been hit, but his shirt was soaking through way faster than Michael would have liked. It reminded Michael of Sudan three years earlier: Scott hit in the gut, blood everywhere as the idiot protested he could still fight. But that time they’d been surrounded by friendlies, all the bad guys killed or fled, not crouched behind the remains of some shitty foundation, shots coming from two sides, the rest of their team at the top of a hill a dozen meters away and taking fire themselves. _Shit_.

Scott looked down at himself, still seeming a bit confused from his head hitting the ground. “There’s a lot of blood. Can’t all be mine?”

“Oh it’s yours, arsehole. You had better not die on me here.”

It looked like Scott was going to protest but instead he winced. The lack of a pithy comment worried Michael even more than the blood. He quickly retrieved field dressings from both their kits and pressed bandages against the front and back of Scott’s shoulder, then used an extra length of cloth to tie them in place.

Richmond’s voice was on the comms, “Bravo One, two X-rays have broken off to circle behind the target. We do not have a shot from up here. You need to protect Ayim.” Her voice was even, but Michael could guess at the worry that was just underneath.

“Roger, Bravo Three. I’m heading for the target. Cover Bravo Two.” Michael pressed Scott’s left hand against the bandages, and told him, “Stay put, I’ll be back.”

Scott was pale and his face was lined in pain, but he still managed to say, “You totally missed a chance for a Schwarzenegger impersonation there, Mikey.” _That’s more like it_ , Michael thought, reassured.

Michael poked his head above the rubble and saw Ayim crouched by his car, looking panicked. “Moving,” Michael said into his comms. He climbed out of the rubble and scanned to his left and right, looking for threats near the ruined building and toward where Ayim’s pursuers had stopped their SUVs. Shots rang out from above, striking the cars and eliciting return fire: Richmond and Martinez were drawing attention toward themselves while Michael ran for the target.

As Michael got closer, Ayim saw him approaching and stood up, making himself a perfect target for the gunman who had just appeared on the other side of the car and aimed his weapon at Ayim’s head. Michael fired twice, both shots flying past Ayim’s head and striking the gunman. Thankfully, that made Ayim’s sense of self-preservation kick in, and he ducked back down, covering his head and looking wild-eyed. Michael reached his side and then suddenly remembered that Richmond had said she saw two X-rays.

The other man had circled the car clockwise and now rushed around from the back of it, a wicked-looking knife in his right hand, barely making a sound. Michael raised his gun again and fired, but heard only clicking. _Empty, shit,_ he thought, as he dropped his weapon and charged the new opponent instead, pulling his own combat knife from its sheath. Michael feinted to the left to throw the attacker off-balance. He then grabbed the man’s knife-arm with his left hand, wincing as the movement pulled at the bullet graze from earlier. Seeing an opening, Michael slid his own knife smoothly toward the attacker’s throat and didn’t blink as it slid home, the man dropping moments later.

Michael turned back to Ayim. No other threats appeared. He wasn’t sure if all X-rays were accounted for but it seemed increasingly likely. A mimicry of Scott’s voice popped into Michael’s head a moment later and scolded him for jinxing things, just as Locke’s voice burst onto the comms. “Bravo Team, satellite shows four more vehicles approaching your position. You have two minutes to get the hell out of there. Remember, we need the target alive. Split up and rendezvous back at the safe house. Over.”

Scott’s head appeared on the other side of the rubble. He looked alert but still in pain. Michael knew what they had to do.

“Roger, Zero. Bravo Three and Four, retrieve the target and Bravo Two. I’ll draw the attention of whoever is on their way here.”

Richmond responded with a quick, “Roger,” and then they must have taken off running for their jeep.

Michael ran toward the three vehicles Ayim’s pursuers had arrived in, hoping one was still functional. Something finally went right: one bullet-ridden SUV started on the first try. Michael drove it closer to where Scott was sitting up next to the rubble, then walked over to him. The women arrived then, both jumping out and grabbing a now-willing Ayim, then placing him in the back seat. Richmond looked expectantly at Scott but said nothing.

Michael turned to Scott. “Go with them. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Scott huffed out a laugh. “Please, you’d last two minutes on your own without me, buddy. Besides, someone’s got to cover you while you drive.” He waved around his gun with his left hand, looking a little pathetic with the giant bandage wrapped around his right shoulder, but still capable. More capable than most, at that.

Richmond and Scott exchanged some sort of silent conversation, which ended with Richmond nodding. “Okay, we’ll see you soon.” She and Martinez climbed into the car and sped off, toward safety.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Mikey,” Scott said with a grin. Michael snorted and pulled him to his feet. Scott’s face was creased with pain but he was walking unaided. _Good enough_ , Michael thought, as they got into their newly acquired bullet-ridden SUV.

“Man, the girls really fucked up the upholstery in this thing.” Scott looked a bit uncomfortable in the passenger seat but mobile enough to still reach around with his left arm and fire if needed.

Michael started the engine, waiting to leave until the enemy had spotted them and taken the bait. “You don’t look much better, mate.”

“Fuck you, buddy.”

Michael saw the vehicles approaching in the rearview mirror. He waited until they were almost within firing range, then hit the gas, taking off in a rush. He headed down the road Richmond and Martinez had taken but then veered off after half a kilometer, to a side road that he knew would take them back toward the outskirts of Juba. The plan was to lead their pursuers on a merry chase and then lose them in the city. _So far so good_ , Michael thought as he saw all four vehicles in his rearview mirror.

Except looking back again a few minutes later, they seemed a bit closer than they should have been.

“I think we may have a problem here. Do those cars look like they’re gaining to you?”

Scott craned around in his seat to look, wincing as he did so. “Yeah, Mike. How much longer are we stuck out in the open like this?”

“I think only about five minutes. There’s a bunch of construction sites on this side of Juba; we should be able to lose them there without risking civilian casualties.”

A shot rang out from behind them. Still too far to hit their SUV but it was close. “Assuming they don’t kill us first.”

Signs of civilization were increasing around them—houses, businesses, cars—and in the distance, larger buildings. It was just edging toward twilight, and Michael hoped that if they could evade their pursuers until night, the darkness would make it easier to lose them.

More shots rang out, these finding a home in the rear of their SUV. “Shit!” Scott yelled, then whirled around in his seat to return fire. Scott wasn’t the best shot left-handed on a good day, and while injured and with Michael swerving to avoid traffic, Michael only saw one shot hit its target. It was a good one, though. The windshield on the lead car shattered, the spider-webbing cracks obscuring the two men in the front seat for a few moments until one of them kicked at the glass and the whole window gave way.

Bullets struck the rear window of the SUV, destroying the glass. The next shot narrowly missed Michael’s right ear. “Will you do something about these fuckers?” he yelled at Scott.

Scott responded with, “How about you learn to drive and get us the fuck away from them?!” as he continued firing. He finally managed to disable the lead vehicle but the other three were close behind.

Michael made a hard left, trying to get them out of the business area, away from increasingly heavy traffic and civilians who could be caught in the crossfire. Scott was able to blow out a tire on another of their pursuers but had now gone through all of his ammo and was well into using up what Michael had on him as well. _Two to go_ , Michael thought grimly, _we need to get off the road_. He drove as evasively as he could, taking hard turns at the last possible moment, ducking down side streets, trying to lose the two cars behind him.

It was beginning to work. There were longer and longer stretches where Michael couldn’t see their pursuers. Then he saw his chance: a confusing five-way intersection, the light just changing to red, and enough other traffic to muck things up. Michael raced through the intersection and cut left, barely dodging a lumbering truck, horns honking around them. He cut right the next chance he had, onto a quiet side street lined with empty buildings, run-down and desolate. _There_ , Michael thought, yanking the SUV into an underground parking lot beneath a half-constructed office building.

He killed the engine and waited, hoping they were in the clear.

Michael spoke quietly into his comms, “Zero, this is Bravo One. We could really use some support here, boss. Over.”

Locke’s voice: “Roger, Bravo One. I’m pinpointing your location now. Satellite shows two vehicles stopping a block over. Armed men are exiting. And now it looks like they’re being joined by at least a dozen others. They must have called for backup. There are too many for you to fight through. I’ll see if we can get the local police to draw some of their attention. Find some place to lay low for now. Zero out.”

“You know, this day kind of sucks.” Scott looked at Michael unhappily.

“I hear you, mate,” said Michael. He and Scott exited the SUV, then walked to the edge of the parking level. Seeing that the coast was clear, they ran across the small street and into an alleyway, then from building to building, trying to put some distance between themselves and the SUV in case their pursuers found it. Finally satisfied that they’d gone far enough and no one had seen them, Michael led Scott into another empty building and found them a corner to hide in where they wouldn’t be seen without a thorough search; Michael hoped Locke would manage his diversion before their pursuers had time to conduct one.

Scott looked exhausted and collapsed against the wall, sinking down to sit on the floor. His bandages were pretty much soaked through with blood but neither of them had anything left that could be used for fresh ones. Michael’s own arm burned from where he’d been grazed.

It probably wasn’t the best time to pick up their conversation from earlier but all they had to do was wait until Zero gave the all-clear. And Michael really wanted to get at the issue that was bugging him about Scott and Richmond. “Are you really serious about Richmond? Or is this just a bit of fun?”

Scott sighed dramatically, then winced. “You’re the one who can’t seem to do both at the same time, Mikey. So yeah, I don’t know. It’s something anyway. We make it work or we don’t; neither of us is going to run off in a huff if things go sideways.”

Michael thought back to his own experience being involved with a teammate. “After Kate, I just. I don’t know. I thought she and I had what you’re talking about but then…”

“You turned into an overprotective prick?”

“Fuck you. But yeah, maybe. Then since Kerry died, it seemed like temporary was the better way to go. Followed your lead there, mate.”

“Hmm.” Scott closed his eyes and held himself still. Michael felt bad for him. As much as these kinds of talks were just what they did, it was maybe a bit too much at the moment.

But Michael kept going, needing to work through the tiniest glimmer of an idea that was starting to nag at his subconscious, needing to see if it was something real. “I figured finding someone outside of this life wouldn’t work again. I just can’t put anyone else in that kind of danger and I don’t believe anymore that it’ll ever not be part of my life. But I’m not sure I want something serious with someone inside this life, either. I just don’t think I can be objective with someone I care about, watch them sacrifice themselves for the greater good.”

Scott smiled at that. “You’re already like that, buddy. With me, hell with any of us in Section 20. We all are at this point. All the shit we’ve been through together. We might still make the hard call when the world depends on it but honestly, any of us would probably just sacrifice ourselves if there was the barest chance, instead of watching another do it. We may shove each other away sometimes, but we don’t let go, you know?”

Michael stared at him. There it was—the little idea—maybe not quite clear yet, but it was definitely there, and with maybe the worst timing in the world, too. Michael shoved it away, back down into his mind, hoping it wouldn’t interfere with his conscious thoughts, but knowing it probably would. “We don’t let go,” was all he said.

Lost in his thoughts, the noise on Michael’s comm surprised him as it sprang to life: “Bravo One and Two, this is Zero. Your laying low seems to have worked. The police arrested a handful of armed men and the rest scattered. Satellite shows your exfil route is clear. Move out and meet back up at the safe house when you can. Over.”

“Roger, Zero. I’ll get Scott’s little papercut patched up and we’ll rendezvous later. Bravo One out.”

Scott grumbled, “Fuck you, buddy. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Michael sighed in relief, helping his friend to his feet.

\---------

_Interlude_

All of Michael’s senses focused in on one place on his body, the rest of the world fading away, unnoticed around him. All he could manage to say was, “ _Fuck me_!” and realized Scott was rubbing off on him to a possibly scary extent.

“That’s kind of the idea here, buddy.” Scott’s grin was so self-satisfied Michael was tempted to smack him for it, but his attention was too preoccupied for it to bother him for long.

“Oh, fuck you.”

Scott ground slowly into Michael, obviously enjoying himself as he took his time. “Heh, wait your turn.”

Michael felt little embarrassing noises burbling up within him that he refused to give voice to. “Can’t you go any damn faster?”

“Nope!” If anything, Scott looked even _more_ self-satisfied than before, which shouldn’t have been possible.

But Michael refused to go down without a fight, snarking back with, “Of all the times to prove you’re slow…”

Scott laughed at the challenge, radiating a wicked joy. “Ha! Screw you, Mikey! Let’s see just… how… slow… I can make this. Find out just how badly you want my cock anyhow.”

Michael could only groan in response, “Oh, _fuuuuuck me_.”

\---------

**Part 4: Richmond**

“Sit-rep, Sergeant?” Julia turned from washing some of the grime of the fight off herself at a sink in the corner of the room to see Colonel Locke entering the Section 20 safe house and walking toward her.

“Martinez is in the other room with our ‘guest.’ She showed him the photos of how his boss treated the last person who disappointed him. I’d say Ayim is more scared that we’ll let him go free than of anything we could do to him, sir. I also just heard from Stonebridge. He’s with Scott at a hospital nearby.” Julia was fairly confident she’d kept her voice level, not showing the concern she was feeling for Damien in particular, as she visualized his shirt soaked in blood just prior to Michael driving them out.

“Good to hear. Scott all right?” Julia had never quite figured out the degree to which Locke cared about the answers to such questions: if they were his team or his tools to get the job done. But she also wondered if it mattered all that much. They were all soldiers, they all knew the risks of the job, and Locke would never let himself lose one of them without good cause. As for the rest of them—she, Martinez, Damien, and Michael—they had each other’s backs. She reassured herself that Michael was with Damien and would make sure he was alright.

“He’ll be fine, sir. He didn’t need surgery; they expect to release him tomorrow,” was what she said, while thinking, _Or as soon as he gets tired of the place and walks out_. Knowing Damien, she figured he’d rejoin them by the morning, only a few hours away.

Locke nodded, apparently satisfied. “Then we count this as a success. We have the target, alive for once; we all live to fight another day; and most important, Interpol owes us one. Time to have a little chat with Mr. Ayim.”

Locke walked away, opening the door to the other room and motioning that Martinez could leave. Julia, though, was still locked in thought about everything that had happened that day.

This thing between her and Damien hadn’t been going on that long yet, but it still hurt to walk away from him after he was shot, knowing that the mission had to take priority and that Michael might need back-up. She worried that they were making themselves compromised, that they might one day choose each other over the mission, but so far they’d pulled this off. Maybe this worrying was just the price she’d have to pay for the happiness she felt with him.

Martinez was nearly next to Julia, looking out a window at the night sky, before Julia even noticed her.

“Hey. It’s all alright, you know? Maybe not the smoothest operation, but we did the job and all made it out alive. Not much more we can ask for in this line of work.”

Julia snorted a small laugh. “We do the best we can.”

Martinez clapped her on the shoulder. “And our best is pretty fucking good.”

That got a real laugh out of Julia. Michael would arrive soon and they’d have Damien back tomorrow at the latest. Then hopefully a few weeks of rest before the next job, the next emergency that needed them.

They’d be ready when it came.

\---------

_Epilogue_

Finn opened his hotel room door at Scott’s knock, the sunlight spilling in around Michael and Scott as they stood waiting for him. Finn raised an eyebrow at them, and Michael realized they must have looked a bit more banged up than when Finn had ditched them a week ago—healing cuts and fading bruises on both their faces. Michael also knew that Scott looked as happy as he himself felt.

“What the hell happened to you two?”

Scott grinned and said, “Oh, just the usual. The Amish want us dead, Michael’s shit at diplomacy, lots of booze and good times.”

“That guy was _not Amish_ ; I don’t care that he shared the same accent as those horse-and-carriage blokes you asked where the nearest bar was,” said Michael, with the same stupid grin on his face, “And I am definitely not the only one shit at diplomacy, mate.”

Finn glanced between them as he grabbed his packed bag. “Uh huh. So where to now?”

Scott’s grin widened mischievously. “I heard the DEA’s got Martinez working out of Guatemala. I’m sure she’s bored as shit without us around. Let’s show her what she’s been missing.”

Scott put his arm around Finn’s shoulders, steering his son toward their waiting bikes, and shoving Michael with his other arm as they walked. Michael laughed as they made ready to head out again. He knew they were all looking forward to seeing their old friend again and whatever else the road would bring.

 


End file.
